Golden Borne
by Rainsaber
Summary: After the Battle of Five Armies, Bilbo leaves with the clothes on his back, memories, and scars, but no riches. Unbeknownst to Thorin, Bilbo takes with him a treasure greater than the Arkenstone and the kingdom of Erebor put together. Bilbo/Thorin, M-Preg/Slash. Also Dwalin/Ori and Balin/OC.
1. The Traitor of Erebor

**Golden Borne**

**Summary:** After the Battle of Five Armies, Bilbo leaves with the clothes on his back, memories, and scars, but no riches. Unbeknownst to Thorin, Bilbo takes with him a treasure greater than the Arkenstone and the kingdom of Erebor put together. Bilbo/Thorin, M-Preg/Slash. Also Dwalin/Ori and Balin/OC.

**A/N:** This is completely new material for me. Never written something like this before, but I'm always one for a challenge. This is obviously an AU story for a LOT of reasons, one of which being I couldn't find the heart to kill off any of the original company. _However,_ that doesn't mean all is going to be peaches and cream after the Battle of Five Armies, nor with Bilbo and Thorin particularly throughout all of this, quite the opposite in fact. Male pregnancies just do not happen, fact of life that one, but I'm hoping my interpretation and the story to follow will make that just a tiny little oversight. My hopes are to incorporate a lot of different elements like humor, drama, romance, suspense, fantasy faithful to the nature and world of Middle-Earth (as much as I can)-all the good stuff jam-packed into one believable and realistic story. Understandably I have my work cut out for me, but I blame my nuisance of a rabid plot-bunny infestation for actually getting me this far. I can't say for sure how often I'll be able to update this with grad school rapidly approaching, but know that I will continue to put my best foot forward.

**Warnings:** Slash obviously. However, the only two slash pairings I'll be exploring here will be Thorin/Bilbo and Dwalin/Ori. Can't bring myself to write incest, just not my thing, so no Kili/Fili bromance, just normal brother companionship. There will eventually be a Balin/OC pairing too. The sexuality of these relationships will not be explicit, leastways I don't think. That aside, there will be plenty of cursing and colorful language (maybe even in multiple languages at once), some graphic descriptions pertaining to the birth much later and some earlier medical mishaps-so in other words blood-and a fair amount of suspense and scariness later on towards the end. So in some respects this story may be rated above what the material truly warrants, but I'm not one for giving myself limits either, so we'll see where the story takes us. It could very well at one point or another earn the M-rating.

**Disclaimer: ****I own nothing. I make no profit from this. All are sole property of the Tolkien estate, the original creator J.R.R. Tolkien, and Christopher Tolkien.**

* * *

**Chapter One – The Traitor of Erebor**

"Just not natural," Bilbo grumbled to himself in the dirt, after tripping over the fourth tree root since this morning. "Nope."

This forest is bewitched.

The water in the streams make you sleep.

And the tree roots have wills of their own.

Not natural.

The worn hobbit sighed and started to pick himself up again, but was suddenly hoisted up onto his feet by a familiar hand on his back, dirty fingers digging into the folds of his poor coat. He squirmed and yelped, completely undignified, and didn't bother restraining himself from glaring at Thorin as he passed. The dwarf said nothing in reply. And Bilbo would swear on his mother's good china that their 'king' was hiding a smirk too, albeit a tired one.

Kili caught up to his brother, ahead of Bilbo, and gave Fili a good-natured victory shove. "Pay up, brother."

"The day's not done yet, brother. And I'm sure Master Baggins will find another root to trip over," Fili said, turning around and bowing his head in apology. "No offense meant, of course."

Bilbo shrugged with a frown.

"But then neither of us wins the bet," Kili complained. "You bet he'd trip three times. I bet four."

Fili turned to Kili with a smile and clapped him on the arm. "And if neither of us wins, neither change purse loses any weight and they live to bet another day."

Kili stopped with a confused look. "But neither of us wins!"

Fili sighed loudly and continued on. Kili eventually followed, but Bilbo fell to the back with Ori who was looking a bit more downtrodden than usual. Neither one said a thing, but Bilbo could tell that having someone to walk beside him helped matters. Mirkwood was wearing on all of them. Endless darkness, ominous sounds that echoed for ages, dank smells, little to forage for. There was no doubt in Bilbo's mind that any family of hobbits, aside from the Tooks maybe (and on a particularly adventurous day), wouldn't last an hour in a place like this. There was absolutely nothing comforting about it, and Bilbo had heard tales of this place since he was a little boy. It was hardly the place his mother made it out to be from the books. And it didn't feel right either. The air felt stale and old in an unnatural way. How elves could be living here was beyond his imagining, and if they truly did, Bilbo wondered what kind of elves they were.

Up ahead, Thorin climbed onto a tall rock to get a better sense of where the path continued to blindly lead them. Bilbo stopped short as he looked on the kind of elves that could live in a place like this had inspired the loyalty and courage he saw every day in those that followed Thorin Oakenshield._ Elves that helped shape this stalwart leader, _his mind whispered to him._ Elves that must in some way be terrible indeed._

Later that night, or when the darkness around them got darker, Thorin called for a halt and the company went about setting up camp. Normally they would have stopped long before then, but there were no suitable places like there used to be outside the wood that would serve as a proper resting place. The aerie, though out in the open, had served them as a perfect resting place above the treetops. Even some camps they made outside of the shire that didn't have too much cover had served them better than this wood. The problem was, there was no safe place in Mirkwood. No rock, nor hole, nor tree could save them a moment from the eyes.

Those awful eyes that never left them alone.

They followed, they bred unease, they stole sleep. To Bilbo they were the most horrid thing he had yet to come across on this journey because if they belonged to some vile beast that wanted nothing more than to eat them all whole (for you could also say the same of Bilbo's hunger at this point), then it could at the very least have the decency to not wait until its prey withered down to nothing more than skin and bone. Seeing an enemy coming toward you with full intent to kill you was one thing, but waiting for one to spring felt ten times worse.

Bilbo dropped down onto a rock and pulled his pack off his shoulders with a wince. You'd think he'd be used to carrying this kind of weight around by now, and it was getting slightly lighter each day too! He sighed and leaned back, feeling exhaustion take its turn to weigh him down again. All he wanted to do was just close his eyes and rest. He was dead on his feet. He'd wound up tripping again before they made camp, which didn't go unnoticed by both of Thorin's nephews. And the last time he very nearly fell face first into a pile of questionable goo, left by nature knows what. He knew it wasn't all the cause of roots rising out of the dirt to meet him, but he almost wished that was the truth instead. Leastways that would make him feel a bit more sound of mind.

Thorin stopped in front of him and crouched down, his back to the rest of the group, speaking lowly. "You're not sleeping."

It wasn't really an accusation or a question, though it felt like a little of both. Bilbo scoffed in reply. "Who can with eyes staring at them everywhere? And things growling and moving around. I keep having nightmares I'm being eaten by something only to wake up and find they haven't gotten on with it yet. The noises I can stand, but the eyes, well, they're downright rude if you ask me."

Thorin cracked a smile, but it just as soon faded away on their topic of conversation. "I have felt them as well. They are most unwelcome."

"And yet you find rest! Sorry, I'm just envious is all. I haven't had a proper sleep in…can't remember when."

"Would you know my secret?"

"I would give up half my share of the treasure to know your secret."

Thorin raised one of his bushy brows. "Careful what you risk, burglar."

Bilbo shrugged his aching shoulders with a bitter smile. "Well, it all depends on me not getting incinerated, so in the very likely outcome I do you get my whole share anyway. Either way you win something."

"Your share will be yours to keep because that will not happen. You need not give up anything. I seem to remember I am still indebted to you for saving my life."

"Oh, not this again," the hobbit groaned. How many times did he have to tell the stubborn dwarf he owed him nothing?! Still yet once more it seemed, and just as the familiar words were on his tongue, Thorin grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him towards his face.

"You could have died yourself," the dwarf hissed. "Because of my foolishness, my pride, and my anger. You did a very brave and selfless deed. To older dwarves like Balin that would have been as good as a declaration of love."

Bilbo's eyes widened in surprise so quickly it caused Thorin to laugh.

"Please tell me that was your attempt at a joke," Bilbo said, feeling the tips of his ears flush and nervous laughter build up in his chest.

"A poor jest perhaps," the king allowed as he stood. "Come to me tonight after the others have gone to sleep, and I will show you my secret. I would wager you tire of tripping over tree roots."

As Thorin walked away, Bilbo narrowed his eyes at the dwarf's retreating back. No one else had noticed, for they had given them some rare privacy at a wordless request of their leader by only turning a back. It reminded Bilbo how much respect Thorin commanded among the group, but had he ever seen the king look like that at anyone else? It struck him as odd, and he wasn't entirely sure why.

* * *

He wasn't sure which came first, the darkness or the pain, but in the darkness he felt a cool breeze across his face and warm rays from the sun. They were comforts that reminded him of a cool autumn day back in the shire, when he used to fall asleep on the swing seat under the tall tree behind Bag End. His mind wanted him to believe he was back home, but something told him he wasn't, that he hadn't been for a very long time. Something else tugged at his heart, wanting him to stay blissfully unaware in sleep, as if there were things he shouldn't want to remember. But he remembered them regardless.

There had been a battle.

Heartache led to it.

Blood had been shed.

And then nothing.

He opened his eyes and quickly shut them with a hiss.

Too bright.

Something creaked to his left. A chair maybe. Someone was sitting at the bedside of the traitor. He turned his head away from the light and tried opening his eyes again. His vision swam as the throbbing in his head beat against his skull harder. Had he hit his head?

"Yes, you did indeed hit your head. And you have a decent size lump to show for it."

An old face with wrinkles, bushy eyebrows, and long grey beard filled his line of sight.

"Gandalf?" His voice sounded horrible, like he'd swallowed gravel.

The wizard smiled down at him in relief nonetheless. "My dear hobbit. We worried it would be much longer before you woke."

Bilbo frowned as his vision cleared. A small ladle was put in front of his mouth and he drank the water down like a dying man to quench the fire in his throat. He choked a little and coughed, but waved off a second portion, knowing from experience that too much would only make his stomach worse. As he laid back down he took stock of what he could see and feel. He was lying down on a cot in a tent with flaps that were being blown about in the chill autumn wind. He was barely covered with a threadbare woolen blanket that had seen better days. And somehow there was a small rolled up cloak pillowing his bandaged head.

"We," he asked, or croaked.

"Thranduil and his son were kind enough to tend to you in your sleep," Gandalf informed him, dropping the ladle back into the bucket of water by the bedside. "Thankfully all you received as a result of the battle were nothing more than some scrapes and bruises, and an unfortunate bump on the head."

Bilbo glanced at the wizard and saw how battle-worn he seemed as well. Then he turned away to look at the canvas top of the tent, taking note of the holes and suspicious speckled stains. He wondered whose blood it was. "Seems unlikely."

Gandalf frowned as he pulled his pipe away from his mouth. "Unlikely?"

Bilbo scoffed. "I'm the traitor of Erebor, remember? Who would concern themselves with someone like that, and royalty for that matter?"

"Those who see the truth, Bilbo. The elves think very highly of you for your efforts, despite what any dwarf may mistakenly choose to believe."

He sighed and closed his eyes, wanting sleep to come back and pull him under. "At least someone does," he muttered.

"And do not be so ready to judge those who are bound to hold allegiance to their king. Some among the company know of the sacrifice you made for their sakes. Not all were as affected by the gold-lust as Thorin was."

Bilbo's eyes popped open, and he could feel the fear welling up inside as he searched the wizard for any trace of truth to the whispers that erupted in his head. "Was? Is he…? Where-Where is everyone," he asked, trying to push himself into a sitting position. "Are they-?"

Gandalf put a hand on his shoulder and pressed him back down on the cot. Bilbo didn't protest much since his headache only worsened and he started to feel a bit dizzy. "How quickly you forget that head wounds are _not_ to be trifled with. To answer your question, my friend, all are accounted for though not without injury and some loss. You were the last of the company we were fortunate to find among the dead."

"Who did we lose?"

"Many on both sides, though none of our own as far as today allows me to see."

Bilbo was almost afraid to ask, but the need in his heart gave him the strength to ask. "The boys?"

The wizard paused to take a few puffs of his pipe before continuing in a graver tone than before. "Fili has not woken since he fell, and with each passing day his chances will continue to decline. He took a poisoned blade meant for his brother by Bolg, son of Azog. It has caused much bleeding, some inside that cannot be properly drained, and infection has set in. If he wakes, it is very possible the fever may have altered his mind. It has been too high for too long."

Bilbo felt sick, sicker than he'd felt the past few days at the thought of Fili doing so poorly. That boy never failed to put a smile on his face, to reassure him of brighter days to come, victorious days with honor and a return to glory. He was full of life and light in a way that made Bilbo think of some of his hobbit cousins back home. There was untainted innocence in him still. He was young, far too young for death yet. He was Thorin's heir. He had so much in front of him that it was impossible for Bilbo to even fathom the possibility that he may not be the same, nor the other possibility that…

"And Kili," he asked. "What of him? What of his brother?"

"He lives, though there is a chance he may not walk of his own free will again. He took a heavy blow to his leg, which crippled the muscle and very nearly severed one of his major bloodlines. Both are lucky to be breathing, though I do not know if luck would be the most appropriate word."

Bilbo bit his lip and spent a moment trying to rein in a sudden burst of anger. It seemed entirely unfair, _unfair_ that those boys were suffering and here he was with only a lump on his head to show for the peril they had all been in not so long ago. "And Thorin?"

Gandalf pursed his lips and a dark look passed through his eyes. "Nothing more than a few broken bones and wounds that will scar over. Though the fallings of his nephews brought him back to us, in many ways he is still lost. Loss has a way of bringing lost souls home, but grief can blind the greatest of seers for a century. I had hoped fate would shake Thorin of his foolish pride, but not at the cost his nephews paid in his stead. Do not mistake me, Bilbo, I would not wish ill on any living being, no matter their crimes, for in due time wrongs will be answered and in more time after that perhaps forgiven. Though it is not in my power to cast such judgment, what is in my power as well as yours is our capacity for pity. It is not as thin a thing that man has come to take it for nowadays. At its heart, pity is the very thing that separates the darkness of this world from the light. Between both compelling forces are shades, and within them lie the secrets of life. Of courage, of forgiveness, resistance, and even redemption once in an age. Every soul loses its way. Every soul passes for a time through trial, through challenges that will decide which side they will ultimately turn out on. But we cannot force them, much less guide them by our own judgment if their path is theirs to find."

Bilbo shifted on his cot with a wince. "What can we do?"

"Hope," the wizard said, sitting back in the creaky chair.

Hope? Bilbo wanted to laugh. Hope was the very thing that brought him here and took everything away. Hope led him to sadness. Hope led him to loss. Hope led him to pain. Hope made him take that cursed stone. Hope made him think he could save his friends. Hope made him think he would still have friends.

And where were they now, his mind whispered. Where had hope led him?

"He trusted me," Bilbo whispered. "Gandalf, he trusted me and I betrayed him. It's my fault-"

"Never before has a more foolish statement passed those lips of yours, Bilbo Baggins," the wizard snapped. "Have you not listened to a word I have said? Thorin Oakenshield made his own choices and they are his to right. Blame is a pauper's slight of hand. You acted nobly and as fate would have you serve, through the good of your own heart. _Never_ question that Bilbo, for if you do your eyes will turn as dark as Thorin's did."

Bilbo closed his eyes and took a deep shuddering breath before forcing himself to open them again to the light. He didn't understand how he could ever banish the memory of those foreign eyes glaring down at him, but there was one important thing that outshone those painful ordeals. "He's alive. That's what matters. That's all that mattered." Bilbo tried to sit up again and waved Gandalf's protests off. His head swam a bit, but the pain wasn't as bad as before. "But I can't imagine he'd want to see me again after what was said. If he ever does, he needs more than time. I can't stay here. Everything's over and done with, the contract's carried out, there's no reason why I shouldn't go back home where I belong. Back to the shire…"

Bilbo frowned as the words came out so easily. Somehow they didn't hold the same meaning anymore and the feeling frightened him a little. But Bag End was his home. Erebor was Thorin's. And he had done what he set out to do. He had helped them reclaim it, even at his own expense. He would deal with the loss in time. He wasn't really sure how, but he would, and with his head held high like a hobbit of his name should.

But the funny thing was Gandalf's reaction. The old wizard started to say something in reply and then stopped himself with a curiously confused expression. When Bilbo frowned Gandalf stuck his pipe into his mouth and narrowed his eyes at the hobbit in thought. Bilbo raised an eyebrow, but said nothing, passing the moments by in confusion himself. Then the wizard finally relented and a strangely apologetic look overtook the wrinkles at the corner of his eyes. "There is one thing more of your condition you must know, Bilbo. Something that you must consider in your…plans."

"All right? What is it?"

Gandalf leaned forward in his chair and laid his arms over his knees, folding his hands together. "It would seem…that there is another you must be responsible for aside from yourself. Another…life."

Bilbo stared at the wizard, not really understanding what he was getting at. "Who?"

"As Thranduil was tending to your person he and myself were made aware, by his son's discovery, that you are, by some strange blessing, with child."

Bilbo blinked and stared blankly. "What did you just say?"

Gandalf frowned in annoyance as he repeated himself. "You are with child."

Bilbo nodded, pursing his lips together. "Yes, that's what I thought you said. Right then. Makes sense."

Gandalf narrowed his eyes at Bilbo, who turned back to the wizard, a little affronted.

"What?"

"Well, forgive an old man for thinking you would be a bit more shocked at receiving such news. You are acting far too cavalier, even for a hobbit."

Bilbo sniffed. "Well, this is my dream, I think I can react to whatever news I like however I want to."

Gandalf tried not to wince, but didn't succeed. "Dream? Oh Bilbo, I'm afraid this is no dream."

Bilbo shrugged. "Of course it is. Males don't carry children. It's physically impossible. We don't ah, we don't have the ah…-ahem-parts."

"Where is that ring of yours, Bilbo?"

"My ring-why do you want to know that? It's right here in my pocket where it's always been. Why does that matter?"

Gandalf snuffed out the smoldering ashes in his pipe and knocked them out with a bit more force than necessary. "It _matters_ because I recall telling you some time ago that magic rings are _not_ to be-"

"Trifled with, yes, just like bumps on the head as you _just_ told me a mere few minutes ago-"

"This is _nothing _to jest about."

"Telling me there's a _growing child_ inside of me isn't your try at a j-"

Bilbo stopped short and fisted his hands in the blanket covering his stomach, sealing his lips shut against the odd but familiar nausea that hadn't left him for weeks. A flash of heat crept up the sides of his neck, threatening him with imminent consequences if there wasn't a bucket nearby. But he did as he always had and focused on breathing in through his nose and out his mouth, as Ori once told him when he'd nearly gotten sick in the dungeons of Mirkwood. After a few moments the nausea passed, and he was being stared at by a suspiciously silent wizard.

Why in the world was he…?

Oh.

Bilbo dropped his hand from his stomach and glared in frustration and exhaustion. "Don't," he warned.

Gandalf sat back and crossed his arms with an air of smugness that was starting to irritate Bilbo. "Mmm? Don't what now?"

"Don't. Say it."

"Well, I'm afraid you'll have to be a bit more particular with what you do not wish for me to say. There are any number of things one could say for this situation you've found yourself in-"

"_For your information_," Bilbo interrupted. "My _stomach_ hasn't been feeling well since Laketown. There are plenty of explanations for it considering within the past week I confronted a dragon, betrayed a lo-_friend_, and somehow escaped a bloody war with my life. I doubt at this point it's ever going to feel the same again."

"You haven't had much food in weeks now-"

Bilbo threw his hands up. "Then _hunger_ pains! I am not…_that_. Women have that lovely gift of life, not me. Why are you even-did Thorin put you up to this? Does he want to humiliate me more by making me out to be a complete halfwit?!-"

Gandalf grabbed Bilbo's hand, lifted his shirt, and pressed it into his bare stomach before another word could be spoken. Bilbo started to protest once it was done, but he was quickly silenced. "Feel," the wizard said in a terse tone and with a stern look.

Bilbo answered the look with one of his own before rolling his eyes in defeat. Feel! He wanted to laugh out loud at the complete lunacy of it all, but instead he only shook his head and pressed his lips together. Feel what? The same indigestion he'd been feeling for the past few weeks? This was some awful joke. They were all probably right outside the tent listening in and having a good laugh amongst themselves at his expense. His cheeks burned as he pictured it and his heart twisted a little in hurt. Maybe he should have expected something like this after being publicly denounced and then having the nerve to stay and think he could do something to right his wrongs. But he didn't think for one moment that Gandalf, of all folk, would go along with it-

His depressive chain of thoughts stopped dead.

He nearly gasped out loud.

Maybe he had.

He didn't know, because his whole body froze and he stopped breathing.

He looked down at himself and-

He started, losing his balance, but a large hand on his shoulder kept him firmly in place when it came a third time. The first time it was barely noticeable. The second was a little stronger, but that last one was quite forceful.

That…

_That_ was…

"That's not," Bilbo breathed, trailing off.

Not his stomach.

Not a muscle twitch.

Definitely not indigestion.

_That _was something.

Something that…_kicked._

A chill started to creep up his spine.

Bilbo dared to look up, his vision tunneling in on the wizard who hadn't moved an inch from his side. "I'm not dreaming?"

Gandalf shook his head and spoke softly. "No, Bilbo. I am afraid you are not."

How?

_HOW_ was something like this even-it wasn't. It wasn't! There was no biological or natural reason for how something like this could be. The very fact that he was considering that it could be was scaring him. He yanked his hand away and wasn't quite sure what to do with it. He wanted to shove it in his pocket, but…

His hand moved of its own accord, dipping into his coat pocket and rising back out with a familiar slight weight between his fingers. The unadorned golden band felt cool to the touch. Bilbo wanted to say it was his imagination, but the ring felt different in his hand. It felt heavier. And ominous. Bilbo looked up to Gandalf who was staring intently on the ring too. A strange feeling came over the hobbit and his fingers closed around the object again, dropping it right back down into the dark depths of his pocket.

"No," Bilbo said, feeling the fear starting to take hold of his voice. "No, no, it's impossible. I don't, no, I don't believe it. I can't believe it. _How_ do you expect me to believe something so absurd? This whole conversation is absurd-_you're_ absurd for even saying something so-"

"I think you've used that word one too many times already, Bilbo."

Bilbo deadpanned. "All right. Ridiculous. Preposterous. Ludicrous. Inane. Insane. Idiotic. Crazy, mental, stupid, foolish, daft, outrageous, imbecilic, _harebrained_! UN-reasonable, IM-practical, NON-sensical, IL-logical! Have I left any similar word unturned?!"

Gandalf pursed his lips and cocked his head, eyes widening in slight amusement as he answered. "Mad, perhaps?"

Bilbo started to laugh, and quickly found he couldn't stop. He couldn't remember laughing to hard in all his life. In fact, he couldn't ever remember laughing himself unconscious before.

* * *

**A/N: If you made it this far, thank you for reading. I'm curious as to what your thoughts are and if it's not too much to ask (since this is new territory for me) please leave a review and let me know what you think. Next up some elves, some dwarves, and maybe an eagle or two.**


	2. Unseen and Unsought

**A/N:** Well I certainly wasn't expecting such a great response to that first chapter so to all who read and reviewed it, thank you! Thank you also to the people I couldn't PM privately for reviewing too. I really appreciate the support and feedback in this new endeavor. Just a heads up the next update or the one after that might take a little while since I'll be in the middle of moving and I can't say for certain when I'll have internet access again. Might be a couple of days, might be a couple of weeks. I'm hoping for the former. I try not to write monster chapters, but sometimes I can't help it XP.

One last note: it is NOT my intention to start any kind of moral/religious argument here with the content of this chapter. In fact it's far from it. I'm merely trying to explore the emotional aspects of this odd situation that Bilbo is trying to come to terms with and also stay true to the ideals that make up Tolkien's work and world that these characters live and function in. Didn't think I needed to say it, but just in case, I was only trying to be completely unbiased here as a writer. Anyway-done rambling. Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter Two – Unseen and Unsought**

Eyes glittered at them in the dark.

Staring.

Constantly staring.

They were eyes that never closed, never moved, never blinked.

Logic told Bilbo that everyone in the company was being stared at, but his intuition told him those eyes were only for him. He was a hobbit, after all. Not very many hobbits ever traveled beyond the borders of the Shire. And to Bilbo's knowledge there weren't any who even came as far to set foot in this wretched forest. All the better for them, he thought to himself.

They had the luxury of ignorance.

He wouldn't have minded the staring if it were simply a matter of a single hobbit traveling with a great company of dwarves. He would have stared too if he'd seen anything like it back at home. But those eyes felt like they saw deeper, beyond the safe surface of who he was by nature and name. Those eyes felt like they knew his secrets. And the smallest possibility of them knowing him, as if he were an old tome opened to the very page where the binding was cracking and separating from the pages, did more than unsettle him. It downright terrified him that he might unknowingly be stripped so bare.

Bilbo shivered and pulled the worn sides of his jacket tighter around his chest. He hunched closer to the fire and tried to distract himself with the flames licking at the petrified wood. The smell of the burning wood had been unbearable the first few nights, but by now it barely fazed anybody. Something cracked and creaked out in the darkness. Bilbo tried not to pay it any mind, but it startled him all the same. He just couldn't get used to it, the sounds and how they echoed like threats for ages and ages.

He didn't like this place. There was no peace here, no beauty to be found, no _life_. And the fact that it went on and on and on for miles didn't comfort him either. Mirkwood was aptly named to Bilbo. He never knew how a forest could warrant such an odd description, but now that he was here odd didn't even begin to describe it. The name was an understatement.

When Ori finally nodded off, and his snores joined the rest of the uneasy slumbers around him Bilbo looked up to find Thorin talking with Dwalin at the other end of camp. The larger dwarf clapped the king once on the shoulder and climbed a large boulder to perch on top of for the night. Still surprised by the agility of such a large dwarf, Bilbo didn't notice Thorin approach him until he tapped him on the shoulder. The dwarf nodded over to his bedroll that was laid out beneath a tree and an odd fluttering feeling burst in Bilbo's chest as he got to his feet and followed. Bilbo glanced over at Dwalin again and noticed that he was facing away from them, looking out into the dark night where the sounds and eyes lived.

He trusted Dwalin. He trusted Thorin. He trusted any one among the company with his life, but a nagging feeling in his gut told him he couldn't rely on everyone all the time. Was it so wrong to miss home? To want to go home where he had privacy and security? Where he didn't feel like he was being judged and how every breath somehow measured his worth to those bodiless dangers out there? He was among warriors, people who knew how to handle swords and arrows and axes. The only weapon Bilbo had ever become familiar with when he was growing up was the bottom half of a broomstick.

When they reached the bedroll, which looked a little more comfortable than Bilbo's sorry excuse for one, Thorin gestured to it as he slipped off his coat of furs. "Lay down," he said.

Bilbo did as he was told and stiffened only a little when Thorin did as he suspected he would by laying down right next to the hobbit. Then, before he could think any further on how soft the covers were beneath his aching back, Thorin drew up a thin but large blanket over them both. The light from the fire was visible through the worn threads and Bilbo could make out Thorin's face perfectly beneath it. He could tell Thorin was waiting for an answer, and once his lazy mind got around to giving him a better understanding he nearly burst out laughing, but somehow managed to keep his amusement down for the rest of the camp. "And here I thought you had some grand scheme up your sleeve," Bilbo chuckled, feeling some of the tension drain out of him. "Oh, that was good."

The king smiled and spoke softly. "I took a page from your book and resolved to look for a simple solution. Granted your trade for multiple eyes has given you one pair still, but that can also be remedied."

Bilbo opened his mouth to reply, but found that words failed him. "True…"

Thorin frowned. "But?"

"Well, now there's another problem. I'm comfortable for the first time in days."

It was meant as a joke, but Bilbo also really didn't feel like moving. He could feel sleep charging at him like a full-grown stallion; of the size men rode into battle. He was afraid he wouldn't make it to his feet, so instead of further embarrassing himself his exhausted mind reasoned that the situation wasn't entirely out of decorum if he were to fall asleep right here right now. And he would have except for his enduring sense of manners and his continuously mumbling lips. "It's not proper, in _any_ way whatsoever, but truth be told I don't think-" He paused to yawn behind his hand. "Or…feel, rather, like I might…" He blinked and frowned, another yawn threatening to come loose. "Oh, what's that-that _word_-that _thing_ you do when you can't…keep your eyes open?"

"Sleep," Thorin asked with an odd smile.

"Mmm, _that's_ it," Bilbo mused, turning on his side to face Thorin and finding his eyes shut. _When did that happen? Why is this roll so comfortable? It's too comfortable. This kind of comfort is evil. First were orcs, no first was the rain, then the trolls, then the orcs, then goblins, then wargs, but there were wargs before too, then a bear, too much bread and honey, now bedrolls. Nefarious bedrolls that let you sleep too much. Why was Thorin laughing at him? _"S'not funny," he said after picking his head up, and dropping it right back down when he was finished.

"You mumbling in your sleep is very amusing to me," Thorin said somewhere above him.

But he wasn't really listening. There was warmth. Warmth he could burrow into. It was lovely. Oh, and it moved. That was odd. Do sheets move? Sheets don't wrap themselves around you do they? "M'not mumbling. M'not sleeping. Can't sleep…r'member? Too many eyes."

"Not under here," the dwarf whispered. "Go to sleep, Bilbo."

"Sleep. Sleep's better…or, no, not sleep better but…hmm, where was I going with that?"

"To sleep."

"Right," the sleepy hobbit agreed. Only a few blissful seconds passed before he was rustling about again, trying to push himself up. "But no, this is your…your thing, I shouldn't be-"

Arms tightened around him and there was a soft growl in his ear. "Hobbit. Sleep."

Bilbo wanted to put up a bigger fight, but a big yawn put a stop to it before he could start. Reluctantly, he let Thorin pull him back down onto the bedroll next to him. Who knew the Dwarf's arm could be such a comfy pillow? Or that all that muscle could feel so soft-Goodness, how long has it been since he'd had proper sleep? "Won't there be…questions in the…morning?"

"There will be more if you don't get enough rest," Thorin droned. "Some I will be hard pressed to answer because of your refusal to sleep."

"M'sorry. I'll sleep now."

"Thank Mahal."

It was still a little awkward, but being so sleep-deprived as he was, Bilbo found himself drifting off easier than he would have otherwise. He wasn't sure how long he'd been asleep, or if he even fell asleep at all, but a loud crack echoed right behind him, followed by a growling. Bilbo flinched and his eyes sprang open. For a moment he saw nothing but darkness and could feel the panic rising in his throat. But then he remembered what was in front of him when an arm tightened around his waist.

The hobbit bit his lip and lowered his head, embarrassed and angry with himself for acting like a scared little boy. He had a sword. He'd used it before. He was no innocent to bloodshed. This journey made sure of that at this point. But his sword was across camp next to his pack and his empty bedroll. And if there was any hope at him falling asleep tonight it was long gone now! He was wide-awake. Again.

"Reach behind you," Thorin whispered to him.

Bilbo did as Thorin said and reached behind him with his right hand. His fingers ran into something long and hard and cool to the touch, something metal. Thorin's blade lying out of its sheath behind him and under the blanket with them both. Bilbo looked up at the dwarf king and saw those glittering blue eyes looking down at him. In the dark the hobbit could just make out how soft but fierce they were.

"Every night it lies in my hand else I find no rest. If any creature dares approach, you will not be the first thing it will meet. You have nothing to fear."

Nothing to fear?

Then why did his heart still feel like it was going to burst out of his chest?

* * *

He was nervous.

Gandalf had told him to stay in bed for another day, but one was torture enough.

And he wasn't naïve.

He knew why the wizard had wanted him to stay hidden away in the tent he'd been put in. Maybe it was a little reckless of him to walk around on his own, after earning the enmity of an entire race with one selfless deed, but hiding away like a coward and not owning up to what he did wasn't in his blood. He was a peaceful hobbit, yes. But he was not a passive one.

He wasn't looking for trouble. He was fairly sure that had been beaten out of him before the battle. He needed fresh air. He needed to get away from the stench of blood, the sounds of injured and sick or dying men, dwarves, and elves. He needed to be alone, or as alone as he could be just to sit in the unstained grass (which there wasn't much of) and feel the solid ground between his toes. He didn't venture far from the tent, only far enough away to be just out of sight, and as far as his shaking legs would allow. Vertigo and a continuously throbbing headache made it hard to stay upright, but when he finally found a boulder to sit and rest on it couldn't have come sooner.

He dangled his feet over the edge and took in the sight of the land below him. It was beautiful in every single way he could possibly think of to describe. To be above the land, to be able to see across the plains like this, to see the lake and the land and forest that lay beyond almost made him forget that he'd journeyed across all of that to be sitting here. The light from the early morning sun gave the sparse clouds and the sky above a beautiful warm array of colors, but the bright rays made him wince and his headache worsen.

He reached up and tugged at the tight bandage around his head. He swore it was only making the pain worse. The discolored wrapping fell off him, wafting in the breeze and begging to be released from his grip, but instead of giving in to his whims he rolled it up and stowed it in his pocket. He would have to bring it to one of the women later to clean and reuse for someone else. That was, if they even acknowledged his presence or didn't turn around and burn it instead.

Bilbo sighed. He thought he'd had more than his fair share of being stared at in Mirkwood. But this wasn't just staring. He was being glared at with anger and ill intent everywhere he looked. Why he couldn't have been placed with the men or elves if the dwarves truly hated him so much was beyond his understanding. But maybe that had been the point, to make him miserable if it turned out that he would somehow live and not mercifully die. He shook his head and snorted out bitter laughter.

Who would have thought living could annoy and anger so many people?

There was a plateau below him. At the edge in the distance Bilbo saw Gandalf speaking with one of the Eagles perched and ready for flight. Balin and Dain were walking away from them, talking to one another in hushed tones. Bilbo could barely hear them, but he hadn't said a word as they drew closer to him. Maybe they wouldn't even notice-but then Dain looked up and spied the hobbit sitting there. Bilbo didn't look away when Dain looked at him, but he did fist his hands into the legs of his pants. He had told himself he wouldn't look away from any of them, and it was getting harder to keep that simple eye contact. After what he learned yesterday, however improbable it seemed, all he could see was a reflection of his father's eyes staring down at him in judgment, as if to say, "Look at what you've done."

This look, however, wasn't only one of anger and derision. The dwarf's lips curled up in disgust as he muttered, "Mahal is too merciful."

Balin hadn't spared Bilbo a glance either, but he steered Dain in the other direction back towards the camp.

Maybe Bilbo should have taken that as a good sign, especially considering Balin had been responsible for Thorin sparing the hobbit's life, but he missed the old dwarf's stories and comforting words. He missed the company. He missed the boys. He missed Thorin, of course. There was a part of him that believed if they all lived through the battle that things would change, that the spell of the gold-lust would somehow be broken and all would be right again. But he was horribly wrong and he felt foolish for believing such a fantasy. And even if it had come true, what Gandalf had told him yesterday…

No one would have looked at him the same way again, regardless.

When the eagles took flight, Bilbo stood up to get a better look. He shook off the fuzziness that dulled the edges of his sight and focused on the strong and wide wingspans of the gigantic creatures as they left. He wasn't likely to see something like this again in his lifetime, he reasoned with his battered and throbbing head. And that cleared things a little bit, but it still left him weak and breathless. The eagles screeched as they got fainter and fainter in the distance. Bilbo eventually had to sit back down, sighing and wishing they could have taken him with them.

They were such beautiful and powerful creatures that a balloon of awe never failed to steal his words when he gazed upon them.

The wizard walked over to him, leaning heavily on his staff, and took a seat right next to the captivated hobbit. The two sat in a comfortable silence for a long time. The morning colors in the sky faded and the wind started to pick up when Bilbo could no longer see the outlines of the eagles.

"You know," Bilbo began. "I had the funniest dream."

"Strange," Gandalf hummed. "What of?"

"You were there."

"Was I?"

"You told me I was pregnant."

"Did I now? How strange, indeed."

Bilbo turned to look at the wizard. Gandalf was looking at him with pursed lips and eyes that seemed to say exactly what was on his own mind. "That wasn't a dream, was it?"

"No," the wizard replied.

Another long silence followed before Bilbo exhausted his own mind trying to come up with an appropriate response or thought of where to possibly start. He shrugged and shook his head. "I don't know what you expect me to say or do. I don't even…its just not _physically_ possible. Alright-You telling me that I was-"

"Am," the wizard corrected.

Bilbo cleared his throat with a glare. "Right. But it's not-"

"But it is."

Bilbo sighed before dropping his face down into his hands. "I'd be okay with you telling me it was a joke," he mumbled. "I wouldn't care. It's not like I deserve anything less."

"Enough," Gandalf squawked at him, knocking him on the leg with his staff. "You are a Baggins! You come from a proud family that doesn't stick their heads in the sand when things don't happen the way they expect."

Bilbo rolled his eyes. "You also said I was a Took and look where that got me."

"Now don't get morose. This situation is far from dire."

"_Far from-!_ How am I supposed to…_if_ I even am, as you say, then how can I…? I am not a woman," he sputtered, throwing his hands up in frustration. "I cannot physically have children. It's impossible!"

"Well, technically speaking, you are very much capable of producing children. Traditionally, males are often the spur in such desires-"

"Yes, yes, I know how it's _done_-thank you verymuch. I was there for-ahem-_it_ and _it_ is not _that_! Male relationships happen with hobbits just like any other race, whether people choose to speak of it or not, and I have never in all my life heard of something like this happening with anyone _because it doesn't_!"

"And yet it has. Having a child is a natural process that happens every day. Anyone, never mind race or even gender, would think so. Why, your parents would even-"

"My _father_," Bilbo interrupted. "Would be rolling over in his grave. And my mother, bless her soul, would think I've finally gone barmy if she ever heard me say such a thing! They knew what was natural so don't try to rationalize this with me because there's no rationalizing to be done about it! I'm…not. I'm just not! I'm not built for this."

"This gift," Gandalf said, taking off his hat and laying it across his knee as Bilbo jumped down to pace in front of the rock. "Has been given to you regardless-"

Bilbo stopped and spread his arms out in exasperation. "Well, what if I don't want it?! I didn't ask for it-I didn't lay with him because I thought there would be a possibility-because there was _never_ any possibility-because it's _impossible_ for a man to grow, let alone birth, a child! It's not…Oh, it's not normal! It's not right! It's not real!" He was panting by the end of his tirade, and in the silence between them Bilbo felt the words he'd spoken sink in. His shoulders hunched and he felt a wave of guilt hit him. He bowed his head as he sunk down onto the ground. "Would that be so terrible of me? To…not want it?"

The wizard smirked when Bilbo looked up meekly for an answer.

"_If_ it's there," Bilbo backtracked with a frown.

Gandalf got to his feet slowly and crossed over to the hobbit huddled in the dry dirt, looking down with a kind gaze. "You've faced far more frightening and life-threatening challenges before, my friend."

"This," Bilbo whispered. "_Doesn't_ happen, Gandalf."

"No," the wizard said softly as he knelt down. "No, it does not, not to my knowledge at any rate. And I would remind you that the knowledge of wizards is not limitless. I will search for answers if there are any to be found. But regardless of my efforts I _will_ help you through this." He paused to lay a comforting hand on Bilbo's shoulder, squeezing it and willing some strength into the hobbit. "I will not abandon you."

The hobbit sighed and shook his head. "This is absurd."

Gandalf frowned. "Yes, we went over that yesterday quite thoroughly. Have you given the matter of the father any thought?"

His brows furrowed in confusion. "Well, I'm the…oh. No. No-no-no-no-no. Absolutely _not_!" Bilbo shot to his feet and started walking away, back to…where? His tent? No, just _away_. And that confounded wizard was following him now. Well, follow him for all he cared! Nothing he could say was going to get him to agree to do something so, so- "If you think for one second I'm going to-to _tell him_!-" He laughed at the very thought.

"He deserves to be told, Bilbo-"

"Told," he continued. "Told! He'd laugh right in my face before bothering to take my head off-in fact, no, he'd say I'd already lost it and spare his sword another cleaning. If there is one thing I refuse to be anymore, it's anyone's source of entertainment around here-and I have had quite enough of the opinion of dwarves _for a lifetime_! Give me the Sackville-Bagginses any day of the week, but I will have no more to do with bloody home-invading life-upheaving _dwarves_!"

Gandalf stopped and stuck his staff into the dirt with a thud. "Now _that_ is not the Bilbo Baggins who willingly sacrificed everything he had in his possession to ensure this noble quest did not fail. And it certainly is not the same hobbit who selflessly and needlessly risked his own life after the fulfillment of his contract."

Bilbo stopped and turned around with water in the corner of his eyes and a bitter victorious smile. "No. This is the Bilbo Baggins who lost nearly everything by daring to think for someone other than himself! And the most wonderful thing about that is I'm _neither_ of those hobbits anymore. I'm back to being the same Baggins who had no idea who he was nor what he was doing and as _painful_ as that is to go back to sitting in front of Bag End not knowing what purpose I had beyond elevensies and pipe weed it's all my sanity has after this _adventure_ of _yours_!"

Bilbo paused when he felt himself shaking. He was surprised at himself, but also somehow vindicated at the hurt look the wizard was sporting. A nagging feeling in his gut told him to keep going and before he could think any further on it he had opened his mouth again. "Did you know this would happen, Gandalf?"

"No, Bilbo," Gandalf whispered. "I did not. And nor did I foresee how much of yourself you were willing to invest at the time you agreed to Thorin's terms. Perhaps some of what occurred was inevitable, but it was a fool's hope made me believe the mistakes of the past would not come back to taint this noble venture. A small part of me knew this journey would change you, but had I known how much I would have tried to spare you."

Bilbo deflated, releasing his tight grip on the pocket of his worn vest. A chill wind bore down on them both and it shocked Bilbo out of the anger that he had wrongly tried to place on his friend's shoulders. He had often thought Gandalf bore too much on his own and here Bilbo had just added to that because he was hurting inside. It was unfair of him to behave so selfishly, even if part of him felt better for doing it. "I'm sorry," he said. "I-I didn't mean any of that. I don't blame you for anything, except maybe that mark on my door. No, no one could have known things would have turned out as they had. I suppose I just wish someone had and had the decency to tell us for both our sakes."

The wizard hummed in agreement. "Pain changes us, and sometimes not for the better. Not all pains can be mended in time, but there are small things along the way that can be done to ease the hurt and make it bearable. Now, when was the last time you have eaten, Mister Baggins?"

Bilbo felt miserable at the very thought of food. "I don't really feel like eating-" Then his traitorous stomach growled and the hobbit could only purse his lips and bite his tongue in reply.

Gandalf hmmed to himself as he grasped Bilbo's shoulder and tugged. "Indeed. Come along, then."

The worn hobbit only followed because the wizard had tactfully decided to drop the subject of Bilbo's 'condition' and what was to be done about it. There were no comments made on the importance of food, nor the fact that he wasn't the only one he was eating for anymore, just a kind reminder that hobbits were not normally as thin as he was. Bilbo wanted to remind the old wizard that for the past few weeks between the dragon and the war that food had been the furthest from his or anyone's mind, but for once that morning he decided to stay silent and just let the words and concerns fly by him.

One meager bowl of rabbit stew later, Bilbo was starting to feel more like himself, as long as he ignored the big Oliphant in the room that had as of yet to cease reminding him of its presence. He resisted the urge to glare down at his stomach and when the wizard would ask why the poor hobbit kept flinching and biting his bottom lip Bilbo simply blamed it on indigestion, as he had before. Indigestion was easy. Something else was far too complicated for his scattered mind to even start piecing together. He had almost managed to convince himself he was on holiday somewhere, out camping.

Almost.

After their meal, Gandalf had disappeared for most of the day and left Bilbo to his own devices, as long as he promised to stay inside and not venture far on his own. He was enjoying a nap around midday when he woke to some odd sounds outside of the tent. It was a group of dwarves, that much he could ascertain, and they were snickering. Something about it seemed off, so Bilbo waited until they left and only poked his head outside when he had Sting strapped against his hip. Then he caught sight of what had been so funny. To Bilbo there was nothing funny about it, and if he were honest with himself it made him uneasy to see the word 'TRAITOR' painted with crude muddy hands on the canvas. After that he went back inside and didn't dare make an appearance outside again. Dwarves laughed as they passed. Sometimes they slapped the sides of the tent to scare him, but he didn't make a peep.

At least the men and elves didn't share the sentiments of the dwarves. A short pause in conversation was all the hobbit needed to hear. He tried to shut his ears to the pity that followed afterwards, but it grew more and more difficult as the day passed into evening and night. Sleep wasn't easy to find that night. As Gandalf slumbered away on the other side of the tent Bilbo kept nodding off only to be awoken a short time later by those infernal 'kicks.' He was tired and exhausted from the day and the only thing he wanted was the blissful ignorance of sleep, but something else had other plans.

He jerked again at another one and thumped his head on the pillow. "Oh, for the love of…" He sighed and got up, throwing the blanket aside in frustration. "Fine, be that way."

As quietly as he could, he grabbed Sting and snuck out of the tent. He had a good look around before he dared walking anywhere. Mostly everyone seemed to be asleep at the late hour and that gave him a little comfort. He almost wanted to slip the ring onto his finger again just for extra security but he didn't want to hide if he could help it. He didn't want to be completely invisible, even if this…thing, made him want to crawl into a hole and never come out.

He found a log to sit on and sank down onto it a little ways outside of camp. He looked around and when he was sure no one was looking he put a hand against his stomach. Another kick, stronger than the little ones before during the day answered his touch. As crazy as it was to him, there was no other explanation for it and no other way he could possibly see to…to what? Get out of it? The very thought of being a parent terrified him, of being responsible for someone beside himself. Part of why he never married was because he could never see himself being a father. And if he married, having children was to be expected of such a union. He hated the idea that one day the Sackville-Bagginses might inherit Bag End because Bilbo had no heirs of his own, but more than that he hated giving into his father's whims and expectations as if Bilbo would never have any of his own.

Tooks were the adventurous type, but Bagginses were a stubborn lot who clung to propriety like it was all one could live off of. Bilbo was both, yes. And he supposed that was a big reason why he had such a hard time coming to terms with this. He couldn't really deny it any longer, could he? He wasn't showing much yet, but it wouldn't be long before he'd start to. Maybe he could just convince himself this was all some horrible nightmare until then.

"You should heed the wizard's advice, little one."

Bilbo jumped up and whirled around, his heart in his throat and a hand on his letter-opener, and spied a tall shadow leaning behind a tree. When the elf prince stepped out into the moonlight he breathed a sigh of relief and sat back down. "And which piece of advice would that be? He's been giving a lot of it lately."

Legolas smiled briefly. "As is his nature. You should not walk the camps alone by night or day. It is not safe."

"Not safe for me, you mean," Bilbo replied. "Don't worry. I don't plan on staying in this camp much longer. I've been away from the Shire for too long."

"My father is leading our people back to the forest tomorrow," Legolas said, eyeing the camp behind Bilbo's back. "If your need is so quick, you are more than welcome to travel with us for part of your journey. And if you would grant me the time, I would hear some stories of your folk so that I might put your adventures properly into song."

Leaving had been the only thing on his mind since yesterday, and now he was being offered safe passage for part of the way. Convincing Gandalf would be a challenge, but if he couldn't he was sure he could find his way back on his own. Maybe he could even make a map of it all as he went, get lost into wilderness, make discoveries, maybe even find new friends…but that was wishful thinking even to the Took part of him. "There's no need for the songs," Bilbo declined, shaking his head. "I'd rather you didn't. But I would be happy to share some stories about hobbits if we do depart tomorrow. There's not much anyone knows of us outside of Bree, I should think. I almost wonder if it's for the better that no one knows anything."

"Perhaps. But there are not many here who are likely to forget you. I would hope your acts of kindness and bravery outshine those others perceive as ill-intended."

Bilbo sniffed and rubbed his cold nose that had begun to run. "You and me both."

The prince reached into his pocket and pulled out a soft silken handkerchief. He offered it to the hobbit and Bilbo declined at first, afraid he would stain it or ruin something so fine, but Legolas pressed it into his hand all the same. "If you think that is all the craft my people can show, then I think I ought to steal you away to my father's court for a season and prove you wrong. The ladies dresses in winter are far more rich than a simple piece of silk."

"Sounds like quite the occasion," Bilbo commented, discreetly blowing his nose. "Thank you."

The prince nodded once. "Will you not tell him before you go?"

Bilbo's eyes widened when he took in the meaning of the elf's words.

"There is little doubt in my mind as to who the father could be, Master Baggins," the prince said with upturned lips. "It is not my place to judge, but had he known of your condition I doubt the dwarf would be so unkind."

Bilbo scoffed. "I doubt he wouldn't be unkind."

"In my thin knowledge of dwarves, it is children they value above all treasures. Do you believe Thorin Oakenshield would be any different?"

"He's already someone I don't know. He's not the same dwarf that I…knew. Besides, he wouldn't believe me if I told him. I'm tired and confused and I can barely believe it myself, so how can I possibly expect him to?"

For a moment the elf prince looked sad. "Life is a precious gift, Bilbo Baggins of the Shire. T'was such love for life that stayed the hand of the maker at the great smith who dared create his own children in secret. Mercy has been shown to you. If such a thing were seen as an injury to life and all beings that roam the great expanse of Middle-Earth, then how is it that your child lives? How is it that you live?"

Bilbo swallowed past a lump in his throat. It was true. He and this…_child_…has been allowed to endure through a great battle that could have very easily been the end of them both. If there were crimes against nature that he had unknowingly committed, the most reasonable punishment to him seemed to be death, and yet he still breathed. But maybe it wasn't his time just yet, his mind whispered to him. Maybe some greater end waited for him here or elsewhere. The thought made him feel so small and alone. How could anyone, much less an elf, even want to be near him?

"I didn't think the elves would be so kind," Bilbo whispered.

Legolas winced. "My father and his people are another matter. But you will have a friend in me because kindness is too sparse in these parts as of yet. Come," he said, extending his hand. "You need your rest and the air grows chill. Winter will be upon the mountain sooner than the forest."

Bilbo had doubted he would ever find a friend after all this mess, and to have a hand extended to him in peace so freely completely dumbfounded him. He barely knew the prince and yet he was willing to offer help, an ear, and a care. When had those simple things he had treasured all his life so suddenly started to feel so foreign to him?

* * *

**A/N: Next up, more elves, more dwarves, and your favorite Gruffy McGruffypants. I hope I'm still keeping everyone in character. I have to admit writing Bilbo's little tantrums with Martin Freeman in mind is rather fun, and also a challenge since he does all this non-verbal stuff in the middle of talking which doesn't exactly lend itself well to narrative, but absolutely hilarious to picture while writing ^^. Thanks again for reading and let me know what you think!**


	3. The Kindness of a King

**A/N:** First of all, my apologies for the long awaited update. In penance for my tardiness, this chapter is a bit longer than usual. As stated in the previous chapter, I was in the middle of a move to an apartment where we only just recently got internet access, a family emergency arose after that which included daily visits to the hospital (though thankfully all is well now and back to normal), I'm back temp-working for my old job I thought I officially left-now as an emergency short-term replacement, annnnnd grad school for me is now starting a week early. SO, time and energy has been very scarce this month, which is an awful feeling, but somehow I got this chapter done. I just hope the content hasn't suffered too much. Again, thank you to my readers and reviewers. I really appreciate your thoughts and criticisms and I'd love to hear what you think about this latest update moving forward.

* * *

**Chapter Three – The Kindness of a King**

The first thing he knew was the feeling of having overslept. For any family-oriented hobbit routine wasn't something you normally broke. For bachelors like Bilbo there wasn't much difference because he'd been raised on routine. Up with the sun, his mother used to chirp at him in the mornings. And to tell the truth not much had changed aside from waking, eating, and being on the road _before_ the sun in the past few months he'd been away from home. Since they'd entered Mirkwood it had been hard to tell the difference between night and day, so all Bilbo had to go on was his internal clock of sorts, which he supposed hadn't led him astray just yet. From behind his eyelids it felt like another cloudy rainy autumn day.

But it wasn't anywhere near autumn yet.

The second thing he noticed was that he was warm and comfortable. Even after getting over the cold Misty Mountains, and cutting through the hot late summer of Beorn's flower and bee pastures, the chill from the mountains seemed to follow them into the forest. The air was stagnant and still among the trees, but it was far from warm. The darkness left a lingering coldness in the air that settled into Bilbo's bones and made them ache in what he supposed were the mornings, after being immobile for so long during the perpetual night.

But he didn't ache, and he didn't want for warmth from his thin blanket.

The final thing that made his eyes spring open was the smell. It wasn't putrid or old or musty or dank like the forest and everything around them. It wasn't the stink of his dirty clothes, courtesy of the murky bank of that blasted river he'd almost fallen into, like poor Bombur had. It wasn't even the rotten smell of another attempt at cooking an unlucky catch for breakfast. It was a sweet sort of musky smell that reminded him of home a little bit. There was an underlying smell of pipeweed on top of oak wood smoke from campfires, old worn leather, and some small lingering tang of metalwork. And the pipeweed smell didn't come from his precious supply of Old Toby. It was of an Eastern variety he'd tried for the first time only a few weeks ago.

In the valley of the eyrie.

Over old wounds and freshly tended ones, with apologies.

Under the gaze of soft and glittering blue eyes.

Maybe shooting up out of the comforts of Thorin's bedroll without bothering to wait for his body to properly balance itself wasn't the best morning idea he'd had since he decided to go on this adventure in the first place. He stumbled over his own two feet, got them firmly tangled in the coat and blanket that covered him, and fell over into a heap with a loud yelp stuck in his throat. With a face full of dirt and his hands and arms lodged beneath him, he groaned. So much for having a day without aching bones.

Then he heard footsteps. Two sets of familiar, light footsteps with a slight skip. They stopped in front of him and Bilbo swallowed the urge to roll his eyes. Instead he got his arms underneath himself and glared pointedly at the two princes who looked down on him with twin smirks. How those two could still wake up every morning and continue to smile in a place like this was beyond Bilbo's understanding. But, if he were completely honest, it wasn't entirely unwelcome, just under the circumstances of them finding him stumbling out of their uncle's…and king's…well, personal sleeping…things.

There was no way he was getting out of this.

Nope.

Bilbo rolled his eyes and waited with pursed lips.

"Well, good morning," Fili greeted.

"Good morning, indeed," Kili continued.

Bilbo cleared his throat from the same tangled position on the ground. "Morning, yes…"

"How'd you sleep," both boys asked in unison, singsong and with those maddening grins.

"Suppose you'll see later if I trip over any more roots," Bilbo replied, trying to extricate his poor feet. "Though I can't see how I'll be _doing_ that _any_time soon-"

Both boys hooked one arm under each of Bilbo's and pulled him up off the ground to take him over to the fire where everyone else was preoccupied with packing up and cleaning up after another meager breakfast. How long had he actually slept? And no one had come to wake him? He frowned as he was placed gently down by the fire and his small ration given to him without a word by Fili. Bilbo raised a questioning eyebrow at him, half expecting a prank, but in the end he only gave the food one suspicious sniff before shoving it into his mouth. Over too quickly, he brushed his hands together and looked around for where he'd dropped his pack the previous night.

But Bofur already beat him to it, by dropping it right by his side with a wink and an odd smile. Bilbo frowned as the dwarf returned to helping Bombur with his bedroll before the hobbit could utter a thank you. In fact, they all were acting a little odd. Sure, Bilbo had been afraid of some teasing and joking this morning, after being found sleeping next to Thorin of all people, but no one was forthcoming with one. Had Thorin said something? He doubted by the sly and sneaky glances everyone kept throwing him that Thorin hadn't said anything. For if he hadn't, Dwalin wouldn't have that twinkle in his eye like a joke wasn't on the tip of his tongue. Bilbo returned the funny glance with a withering glare.

Maybe he would have been better with the incessant teasing.

"I trust your dreams were well?"

Bilbo jumped to his feet in surprise, but recovered well when he found Thorin by his side. He nodded. "Didn't uh…didn't have any, actually. For once," he added with a quirk of his lips.

Thorin dropped his voice down to a whisper, keeping his eyes trained above Bilbo's head at the rest of the company behind him. "If you ever find you have need for such refuge again…"

"I'll…be sure to um-let you know, yes."

"Good."

And without another word or even a glance the king moved past him to pack his own things. Bilbo had barely gotten over the brusque and somewhat impersonal manner before Thorin had finished and called for them all to move out. The hobbit shouldered his own pack and bit his lip as he followed towards the end of the line. He wasn't sure why but he felt a little disappointed. It was ridiculous of him to feel that way, but then again he wasn't even sure what he was hoping for. He'd gotten a good night's rest for the first time in days. His body felt a little better, but inside he was still feeling just as awful as before. Maybe it was just the forest, he reasoned with himself.

Making him and everyone else bonkers, or not themselves.

Even if Bilbo was dead drunk he never thought he'd act the way he had last night.

Definitely the forest, he thought.

But he couldn't feel too terribly embarrassed. After all, Thorin allowed it. The dwarf hadn't turned his nose up at him in ridicule or turned him away. Before last night he hadn't thought Thorin would be so open with him in front of the others. Ever since they left the safety of the eyrie he'd been so hell-bent on keeping things to himself. For a while, Bilbo thought Thorin had never meant to embrace him for the way he acted afterwards. But maybe Thorin was telling the truth that night at Beorn's house, when neither of them could find sleep. Maybe the quest really was wearing on him in different ways than the rest of them. Bilbo didn't like to think of Thorin carrying more than his fair share of weight, and when he was honest about it he'd surprised the dwarf.

And he found out that night that he liked surprising Thorin.

After all the times Thorin belittled him and assumed things about him since the quest began, maybe it was just Bilbo getting a little bit of revenge in his own harmless way.

But something about it didn't feel so harmless.

He wanted something from Thorin, something no one else had.

Maybe more of those surprised looks or calculating glances that said _I might have misjudged you_. Bilbo didn't like the idea of Thorin thinking he knew everything about him. Hobbits, by nature, were secretive in their own ways, not the least of which by being able to disappear when they feel they've attracted too much attention or found themselves in need of an escape. Bilbo had his secrets just like anyone else. In recent days though, he was strangely finding it easier to dig them up than keep them buried. Why he would have wanted to share them with someone else, let alone _that_ particular dwarf, was beyond confusing.

Thorin and he _had_ come to an understanding at Beorn's, and _that_ was the problem, because now there was no going back on it. No more keeping things to himself and being able to hide behind the king's displeasure of him and his involvement among the company. No more pretending he could simply go home after all this is done and over with and forget that he actually had friends now who cared about him and his well-being in ways that didn't include just a pop by for tea every few years or so. Bilbo had cemented his place in the company and in Thorin's good graces, which was what he had wanted…or what he thought he had wanted.

But was it something Thorin wanted?

The king looked back, laying eyes on each member of the company for a fleeting second to keep count, not lingering on Bilbo for more time than anyone else before he continued on. Bilbo sighed. Dwarves and their ways were far too complicated for him.

"Master Baggins," Kili said, throwing an arm around Bilbo's shoulders as Fili appeared at his other side. "My distinguished brother and I have been wondering."

Well…some dwarves.

"Wondering," Bilbo asked. "Is that all you sneaks are up to this morning?"

"Prince's honor," both replied in unison with one hand raised.

Bilbo frowned. "Alright, _what_ were you wondering?"

"About you hobbits," Kili answered. "We weren't really taught much aside from how quaint you are with each other."

"No brawls," Fili continued. "No cursing. No family power-struggles or open threats of extortion or murder."

Bilbo almost laughed when images of his surly cousins popped into his head. "Sounds like you really don't know a thing about hobbits."

"Sadly we do not," Kili went on. "Which is why _I_ had said that we simply weren't privy to the nature and measure of quiet folk to make an informed assumption-"

"And I happened to disagree," Fili interrupted. "Because _I_ think all you need to do is find the right hobbit to find out the truth of the matter and that the rest could simply just be happy to be left to their own little holes-"

"And so here we find ourselves with no hobbit to put the question to for miles but yourself!"

"The _actual _question that pertains to you, if my dear little brother would care to get to his point," Fili said. "Is where an orc-stabbing warg-confronting hobbit such as yourself fits into all of this peaceful milling gardening pipe-smoking and tea-in-the-afternoon-ing business?"

Kili glared at his brother over Bilbo's head and leaned in close to Bilbo, as if conspiring against the other dwarf. "I don't suppose any of that that would be seen as respectable hobbit-like behavior, now would it?"

Bilbo sniffed and held his head high. "I'll have you boys know I was nothing but respectable before you lot came along."

Fili leaned in. "But how does one become a respectable hobbit, Master Baggins? Surely it's not as simple and plain as what color you decide to paint your front door?"

"Oh, I know," Kili claimed with a grin, whipping around in front of them both and marching backwards. "Food stores for a passing army, double the number of rooms and fireplaces one hobbit could find he needs-which also fit our company quite comfortably by the way-"

"I thought we didn't know enough to make assumptions," Fili interrupted.

"Educated guesses," Kili bolstered on with a pointed finger. "Also, triple the number of books than you can possibly read in one lifetime, I'd imagine plenty of spare smoking pipes in the off case any hobbit would suddenly find themselves in need of some sort of weapon*, OH _and_ innumerable numbers of those doilies you hobbits like putting on tables and mantelpieces. I'd wager you even call the doormat an oversized one-"

With a yelp, Kili tripped on a root and fell flat on his ass.

Fili and Bilbo both stared down at him before looking at each other with unreadable expressions. Neither moved to help the bemoaning dwarf to his feet, and none of the company did either, most of whom were snickering and biting back smiles of their own. Bilbo glanced up and saw Thorin looking back with a frown. The hobbit pursed his lips together, and felt the seed of some familiar sneaky playfulness in his chest, the likes of which he hadn't felt in a very long time.

"Hm. Shame I didn't take on that bet between you two," Bilbo said before leaving the two young dwarves with identical looks of confusion.

"You see, brother? That is no normal hobbit!"

"Well, he's one of us now and we're the least normal lot of our kind," Fili said as he pulled Kili up off his ass. "I don't think Master Baggins could get any more normal at the moment."

The hobbit smirked to himself when both boys were behind him. He wore it until he made his way to the front where Thorin was looking at him with narrowed eyes. Bilbo almost frowned. He certainly didn't feel guilty about it, for all the pranks those two had pulled on him since Bag End. He would have thought Thorin of all people would understand the need to get back at those two at least once.

"Oh, come on," Bilbo said. "How often do you get a one up on those two?"

Thorin raised an eyebrow and the corners of his lips twitched upwards. "There is good reason," he replied. "Why their pranks never extend to me. It is not punishment they fear, but retribution from the dwarf who taught them."

Bilbo's mouth dropped open as he whirled on Thorin in disbelief. Then he narrowed his own eyes and reeled himself back in with a frown and a scoff. "If you think I'm that gullible, I'm sorry to have to disappoint you."

Thorin leaned in to whisper in Bilbo's ear. "The last time those two tried pulling a prank on me was fifty years ago, when they were just old enough to realize I hadn't even taught them a fraction of what I knew."

Then it was Bilbo's turn to gape as Thorin turned and moved on with a smirk.

* * *

"You are fond of some mischief, are you not, Master Baggins," the elf prince asked.

Bilbo blinked, embarrassed to have lost himself again so easily. It seemed to be happening to him more than usual, and though part of him knew why the other part still vehemently tried to deny it. The hobbit shifted his feet and cleared his throat. "Given the circumstances," he replied. "Preferably when I'm not about to be eaten, squashed, or incinerated. And only on Tuesdays. "

Legolas finished tying off a finely embroidered leather bag to the back of his saddle and turned to give the hobbit an unreadable look.

Bilbo shrugged and crossed his arms. "Well, you wouldn't go looking for mischief on a Sunday, now would you?"

"I must confess, Master Baggins, I wouldn't know the first thing about mischief-seeking," the elf said with a growing smile. "Mischief-causing, however, perhaps a little more than I should."

Bilbo gave the prince the best smile he could muster as the elf mounted his horse. It had lightened the mood for them just a little bit. After all, neither of them had conceived that the elves would be leaving so early, practically at the very breaking of dawn too. But Bilbo was still grateful that Legolas came to wake him so he could at least say goodbye. Gandalf was nowhere to be found as usual, but the hobbit had long stopped trying to understand the minds and doings of wizards. It would have been very easy for Bilbo to simply sneak away with the elves and be on his merry way back home without much hassle, for he certainly didn't have much left to bring with him besides the clothes on his back and the sword strapped to his side.

But as much as he wanted to, he couldn't justify leaving without taking care of some personal business. Granted it was personal business that might just get him killed, but it was the proper thing to do, and he was still a hobbit at the end of this journey. He would continue to be Bilbo Baggins for however long he had left, even if it only amounted to a few hours. Legolas wasn't happy that Bilbo had decided to stay, especially when Bilbo had told him of his reasons for doing so. They had argued for close to half an hour before the elf finally relented.

"I fear you've learned far too much of dwarven ways and manners," Legolas sighed.

"Probably," Bilbo replied, pulling the ends of his torn jacket closer about him. "Bit too late to change things, I think."

The wind picked up a bit. There was a chill on it that did not go unnoticed by the restless horse, its rider, nor the shivering hobbit on the ground below them. "I would stay," the prince lamented. "But my duty calls me home."

Bilbo nodded with a tight jaw. "Maybe I'll catch you up on the way?"

"If you say there is hope, I will sow a little for myself that it may come to pass. For I would very much like to see you again, and in good health and better mind."

"I hope so too."

A loud horn of Thranduil's banner man echoed across the hills, calling the elves to start their march. Normally, the prince's place was by his father's side, and Bilbo could see the elven king glance back to them with keen eyes. The hobbit frowned and stepped back. He knew Legolas had delayed as long as possible for Bilbo's sake, and the knowledge warmed his heart a little.

"I dare not say what thoughts worry me," the prince said. "And yet my resolve is not normally so weak. You have yet a means of protection on you, and I would with the whole of my heart urge you to make use of it should there be need. But the same caution in me would warn you to never touch it again. You carry more than a mere ring, Bilbo. There is some shadow upon it that makes me ill at ease for your sake."

Bilbo frowned up at the elven prince, even though inside he knew Legolas spoke the truth. "But…it is just a ring, isn't it?"

"Would if that were true. Be careful, my friend. Trust none but the wizard. And if you must do as you've said, take some pains to ensure you are not seen. There are those in this camp who still wish you harm in spite of the King's pardon."

A shiver crept up Bilbo's spine, but he kept his face straight and managed a reassuring smile. "Don't worry about me," he said with a slight bow. "We'll see each other again, my lord."

Legolas gave him a soft glare. "And hopefully without titles, Master Dragonspy?"

Bilbo nodded as another elf came up to urge Legolas onward. The prince gave the hobbit one final look filled with regret as he reluctantly turned and spurred his horse towards his father and the rest of the elves as they started their journey back home. Another gust of wind threatened to blow the poor hobbit off his feet, but he barely felt it for the longing in his chest. Dawn had barely started to peak over the treetops, and despite the chill all Bilbo had the energy to do was stand there and watch as the glimmering banners flapped and grew smaller as the elves went.

If Bilbo was honest, he was a little envious their home was so near. He felt a sharp pang in his heart for his own home and comforts. It had been so long since he'd seen it and it felt so far away too. Would he even be able to reach it before winter set in? Just the mere possibility that he couldn't made him second guess what he had already decided to do. He fingered the cool band of the golden ring in his pocket as he turned his thoughts over again. No firm answer seemed to be forthcoming.

Aside from that familiar…'kicking,' as Gandalf continued to call it.

"Oh hush, you," he groused to himself with a huff. "Losing my marbles over some complete nonsense. Pregnant indeed. My hairy foot!"

The hobbit slipped the ring on without another thought and slowly but carefully made his way through the dwarven camp. Many were still awake from a long night of tending to the sick and wounded, but none heard the passing of an invisible hobbit over the occasional moans and snores in the early morning hours. They'd be able to see his muddy footprints, but if anyone were to become curious about them Bilbo would already be far ahead. He certainly didn't dare run through camp, but he didn't tarry to make sure he wasn't being followed either.

Just do what you plan to do and be done with it, he said to himself.

But the heart in his chest pounded regardless. He wasn't nervous because he was heading into the center of a camp that still wanted his head. He was nervous because of one dwarf and damn the rest. When the high banners came into view and Bilbo finally saw the tent he stopped and allowed himself a moment to just breathe. What had he planned to say? He'd gone over it enough times but now it all seemed so stupid. His hand trailed across his stomach as Gandalf's words filled his head again. Bilbo set his mouth into a firm line and pulled his hand away as he set forward again. If there was one thing he wasn't going to be once he left this camp it was a laughingstock. If Gandalf wanted to meddle then that was fine, but Bilbo would have no part in it himself.

The hobbit had barely turned the corner to the front of the tent before a naked sword came into view. "Who's there," a gruff and familiar voice demanded.

"Master Dwalin," Bilbo greeted, quietly as he pulled the ring from his finger.

The large dwarf sighed in a grunt, or maybe more of a growl as he shoved his weapon in its sheath and turned his back. "What in Mahal's name possessed you to come here?"

Bilbo stepped forward as Dwalin started back to the archway. "I-I wanted to see the king-"

Dwalin turned on him and gave him a hard look. "Are ye mad? Comin' all this way and for what? I don't think the king would _appreciate_ seeing ye, much less not want to at the very least run ye through. And unless ye've got a death wish-"

"I know, I know but…all I came to say was goodbye. Can I at least tell him that and then…just go? None of you will see me again, I promise you."

That seemed to shake the imposing dwarf a little. His bushy eyebrows knitted together in disgruntled confusion as he looked down on Bilbo. "Yer leaving?"

Bilbo smirked, half-heartedly. "Don't sound surprised. I wouldn't delude myself by believing I'd be forgiven of what I'd done."

"Ye've got less chance of that than an elf making it out alive through the Iron Hills." Dwalin rolled his eyes and stepped aside, turning to face the other direction. "On yer head be it, hobbit. My hands'll have naught to do with yer blood."

Bilbo breathed a small sigh of relief, but stopped short just outside the entrance and voiced one last small question. "How is Fili?"

Dwalin grunted without turning around. "Hasn't woken. And don't ask about the boys if ye want any chance of life at all."

"Thank you," Bilbo whispered back.

He supposed he should have taken that as a good sign, that of all members of the company, Dwalin hadn't been ready to eviscerate him on sight. But it was only a small victory. He still had to gather the courage to enter the tent and speak. It wasn't the possibility of death that made him hesitate. He just wasn't sure what to expect. It wasn't just Thorin somewhere inside of that tent. The boys would be in there, recovering-he hoped-but not without some level of suffering along the way. That struck him quicker than Thorin's anger, the fact that he had to see what this battle had done to those two lively young boys. Before he knew it, he'd taken that step beyond the arch and past the flap of canvas. The tent was darker than he expected. Candles burned low, but gave enough light to show its three occupants. The sight of them both stole his breath away.

"Bilbo," Kili said softly with a relieved smile.

Kili looked absolutely white. In fact, both boys looked like death only slightly warmed over. The younger of the brothers looked utterly exhausted and a sweaty mess as if he'd just gotten over a fever. The spark in those bright eyes was dimmed and Bilbo had to swallow hard against the lump in his throat as he turned to look on Fili. If Bilbo hadn't let his gaze linger on the older brother's slowly rising and falling chest, he would have thought the boy dead for how still and pale he was. There was no blood on either of them that he could see, but the tang of it lingered in the air like an oppressive cloud.

Thorin sat on a stool in front of Fili's bed with his back to the archway. The dwarf king's back was tense as a bowstring and the one hand that Bilbo could see grasped the hilt of a sword propped up against a side table like a lifeline. There was no doubt in his mind that Thorin knew he was there, even before Kili had spoken his name. Bilbo opened his mouth to speak, but found his mouth dry and his mind completely blank. The seconds ticked by and the urge to just turn around and run kept settling into his feet.

And then he felt another one of those damned 'kicks' in his stomach. He bit his lip, clenched his eyes shut and forced himself to start talking, no matter what came to mind first. "I know you don't want me here," Bilbo began. "I…I just wanted to say… that I'm-"

"Get. Out."

It was a soft command spoken in anger. Anger was the nice way of putting it to memory because in the moment it was pure hate that knifed its way deep into Bilbo and stole any further thought of talk.

"Uncle," Kili whispered.

Thorin turned on his nephew with an angry glare for silence, but the weary boy persisted with his eyes. Bilbo stayed long enough to watch Thorin for a change, but when it didn't come Bilbo jammed the ring on his finger and gave into the urge to run. And he didn't look back. He didn't stop until he was nearly at the end of camp and his own shoddy tent. His chest was burning and he could barely catch his breath, even when he was bent over leaning on his knees and gasping for air.

Fear, anger, disappointment, embarrassment, and sorrow twisted in him like the torrent of a bad summer storm. He didn't cry, but he desperately wanted to. If this was what it felt like to have poison in your blood, then the hobbit was surprised he didn't just keel over right then and there from the pain alone. And his arm, that wretched arm attached to that hand with that damned ring! Bilbo straightened up and ripped it off his finger. His whole arm felt like it had gone numb! He gasped as he shook it and tried to rub life back into it even though the rest of him was shaking like a leaf.

Nerves.

Bloody damned nerves.

He hoped.

"Stupid, stupid Baggins," he hissed to himself as his head started spinning again.

At this rate he'd be suffering a migraine within the hour.

How foolish he'd been to even think for one second that just a few words could change anything. And what had been on the tip of his tongue…it still unsettled him. The hobbit leaned down again to get a few deep breaths in. Those infernal 'kicks' hadn't stopped since he left the royal tent, but with his frayed nerves the way they were he could hardly blame them on anything else. He just needed to sit for a moment and think. Moving seemed the hardest thing yet he had to do, but eventually putting one foot in front of the other became easier than trying to digest all that just happened.

His mind was elsewhere. The ring was in his pocket. He wasn't far from his tent, but every warning he'd received hadn't meant anything to him until that blind moment, when he was kicked in the side and thrown off balance into a mud puddle. He coughed and rubbed a quick hand over his face to get the mud out as he turned and looked up. Four burly dwarves stood over him with weapons drawn and leers that made him grasp the hilt of his own little sword on instinct.

"Do you know what happens to traitors, half-man," the tallest one of them asked in a deep voice. "In Durin's day, when a king beheaded a traitor from The Edge their head turned to stone and rolled down to the bottom of the mountain. But it wasn't a stone when it got there. It was powder. Broken down to bits. Pounded into bigger stones on the way down, it did."

The tallest one took a step closer with an axe in hand. He stood right over top of Bilbo and the other dwarves followed suit. Bilbo tried to move back, but the mud had him stuck good into the mire. He doubted he could get his sword free in an instant if he needed to. The ring would be of no use. Even if he could somehow get away, they'd see his movements and chase him down before he could get far. And if they hit him…if they hit his stomach…

He almost laughed at how easy it was to believe it was there. If it was there he could do nothing, and if it wasn't there was nothing much he could do either. He wanted to say he didn't feel fear, but when one of other dwarves stopped fingering a knife at his belt and took it out, he felt all the fight drain out of him. A cumbersome axe was one thing, but a small knife big enough just for him, for one fatal blow was enough. He didn't cower. He didn't make a sound because his mind had shut down. All he could do was sit there and wait because Bilbo truly didn't know what he could do.

"OI," someone shouted. "Move off!"

What snapped the hobbit out of his immobile shock wasn't the sound of the voice, but the sight of familiar robes and hair. Ori had jumped between the dwarves and Bilbo, even going as far to shove some of them away without even a weapon of his own to use. Bilbo tried to lever himself up, but a stinging in his side kept him down. That kick was sure to leave a colorful bruise later, and he had only just realized how lucky it was that he hadn't been kicked anywhere else.

The tallest dwarf pointed his axe at Ori as he growled out his anger. "This is not your concern, _scribe_."

Ori flinched, but shoved another burly dwarf aside and stood his ground. "I am a member of Thorin Oakenshield's company-"

"And we're Dain's bannermen, your fellow countrymen, your kin by blood. I'll tell you plain as day your king may be duty bound to spare this creature's life but no duty binds me."

"You forget yourself and your duty, Lord Kain-"

"You _dare_ speak to me about duty? A no-name dwarfling with nothing more than an _elvish_ craft to speak of?"

"The King of Erebor commissioned my services to properly document our journey so if you insult me you dare insult my lord king himself and in his own lands!"

Kain dropped his axe but leaned in to Ori as he lowered his dangerous voice. "Where's your king now, little dwarf? Send him word. I think he'd be very happy to let us do this little job for him."

Ori clenched his hands into fists at his side. "Dain would not be pleased with broken orders."

"Dain is not here."

"But _the wizard_ soon will be. Move off," Ori growled, stepping up to within inches of Kain's face. "Or _he_ will hear of your threats in great detail. And he will make Dain's anger seem like a mere sting from fresh paper."

Kain stepped back, and the other dwarves behind him mercifully shoved their weapons back in their sheaths. "You make dangerous enemies, dwarfling. The orcs and dragon are dead. Now it's just us common folk with knives and hammers. Best fashion one for yourself instead of writing about them."

Once the dwarves were out of sight Ori shook a little and let out a great breath of air before he turned to help Bilbo to his feet.

"You didn't have to do that Ori," Bilbo said. "I don't want any more trouble to come to any of you on my account."

"It's not of your account, Master Baggins. I said what I said because I wanted to."

"But why?"

The young dwarf urged them both to start back towards Bilbo's tent, and as they went both kept glancing nervously over their shoulders. "I'm not so easily blinded by riches and gold. Books maybe, but I know why you took the Arkenstone. I'm just sorry it didn't do you any good."

Bilbo shook his head. "My own wellbeing wasn't on my mind at the time, and it still isn't. You're all alive and you've finally got a home. That's all that ever mattered to me."

"You should think for yourself. I don't like to see you treated so harshly for all you've done. It's wrong."

"Wrong or not, you won't have to worry about it much longer."

Ori stopped and looked at the small hobbit with confusion. "What do you mean? Surely you don't mean to leave?!"

Bilbo bit his lip and looked down. "I don't want to leave-"

Ori grabbed both of Bilbo's shoulders and those big brown eyes nearly did the hobbit in. "Then stay! Please stay?"

Bilbo shook his head again. "No," he whispered. "Not with how things happened, how they still are."

"Things could change. It's just a little too soon-"

"Ori," Nori called behind them with a dark look and his arm in a sling. "Come along. There's work to be done."

Bilbo frowned, but gave Ori a firm push. "You should go, Ori."

"No," the young dwarf persisted. "You can't just-"

"Ori," Nori called. "Now!"

The scribe threw a glare over his shoulder, then turned to face Bilbo one last time. "I won't forget you. And no one else will either. I'll make sure of it."

"No, don't take any pains for my sake, please-"

"I can and I will-"

Nori stalked to them, grabbed Ori by the arm, and forcibly pulled him away from Bilbo. "That's enough, now!"

But Ori pulled free of his older brother and shoved him aside. Nori stumbled and looked at his brother in shock, but Ori pounced and pointed a finger into his brother's chest. "If you think for one minute that I'll forgive you for this you're dreaming worse than you said I used to when I was a child!"

After that Ori stormed off without a second glance behind him. Nori gave Bilbo one last glare before going after his brother, shouting his name and not caring for all the attention it drew. A crowd of dwarves was starting to gather, but Bilbo didn't wait to see how big it would get.

Someone cared.

Someone actually cared.

Gandalf had spoken the truth about some of the company.

But it wouldn't change a thing anytime soon. Bilbo wasn't sure what stung worse, the impotent care or the unyielding hate. He entered the tent breathless and started grabbing things and shoving them into his worn and torn bag he'd still managed to keep on him since Bag End. He was so absorbed into the frantic task that he barely noticed when Gandalf came in after him.

"What are you doing, my dear hobbit," the wizard gently asked.

"What does it look like I'm doing," Bilbo shot back at him with a withering glare. "I'm going home, and if you think you're going to stop me you have another thing coming."

"And what would that be now, hmm?"

Bilbo turned to give the old man another hot retort but felt the response die on his tongue as his shoulders sagged. "I need to go home, Gandalf. I'm sick for nothing else now but that. I need to…sit in my study with a book in my lap. I need to feel the carpet between my toes. I need to breathe in my garden. I need my afternoon tea of all things. It's the only thing I have left. Please, don't try to stop me."

Gandalf looked at him for a long moment and then relented with a frown and a nod. "Wait here but a moment more. The road home is long and should not be traveled alone, especially someone with your condition."

* * *

**A/N: The asterisk note was just a little nod to one of my first hobbit fics, "Kindred Horizons" which is a series of three introspective stories that explore the deep friendship between Bilbo and Thorin over the years. Never thought I'd be writing a romance fic, but then again here I am. Grad school is officially starting so God knows when I'll have time to breathe let alone find time to write, but somehow I will try. ****Next up some slow burn Dwalin/Ori to throw in the mix, among other things.**


End file.
